


Four times Cyclonus knelt before Galvatron, and one time he stood.

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ficlets focusing on Galvatron and Cyclonus.</p><p>Contains sticky smut, mainly of the oral variety, dark themes, violence, death of sacrificial OC and unnamed peripheral character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four times Cyclonus knelt before Galvatron, and one time he stood.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caius/gifts).



**Chill**

“On your knees,” Galvatron snarls.

Never have three words, punctuated by the barrel of a laser cannon, been quite so welcome.

Cyclonus kneels, his shins jarring against the uneven rocky ground. Hands clasp his antennae, squeezing, tugging. He stifles a moan – this isn’t for him – and allows himself to be guided, his head pushed down, his lips already parted in anticipation.

Galvatron is cold. This is not unexpected, not out here on the empty crust of some forgotten moon. But it is a shock, nonetheless, tingling over Cyclonus’ glossa, chill against the roof of his mouth.

Not daring to raise his hands and return the touch, Cyclonus sets about the task of warming his lord.

* * *

 **Heat**

Cyclonus draws the full length of his master’s spike into his mouth. His own pleasure is intense, but hardly a primary consideration; Galvatron is the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end of all that is important.

Hot from the plasma bath, his armour steams. A trace of ionized matter sears Cyclonus’ lips. Smeared over the spike, it burns, and he draws it in, caustic as Galvatron’s energy field, hot and crackling as the charging nodes.

Galvatron clutches the back of Cyclonus’ helm; the metal screams. “Ung, suck harder!”

Cyclonus obeys, and adjusts his rhythm to match the frantic thrusts of Galvatron’s hips.

* * *

 **Impulse**

There are things unsaid, things he could never say.

[Stood at Galvatron’s side, his rightful place; _take me now. Yes, in front of them; they’re only soldiers, it doesn’t matter what they think_.

Knelt before him, kissing, licking, Galvatron’s hands on his antennae; _grip harder, frag you, tighter. Press your fingertips into the metal and bend it so far that it breaks_.

Laid under him, his valve full, his armour scorched and scored with lashes; _wrap me in your energy field. Hold me close and never let me go_.

In the chill of space, Galvatron at his controls; _plug yourself in, hack my sensor net, fly me across the surface of that sun. Join me in overload only the two of us could ever experience._ ]

There are things unsaid, and Cyclonus will never say them.

* * *

 **Timing**

It is a strategically inadvisable moment to demand his SIC’s immediate, carnal attentions, but Galvatron does so without a second thought. Cyclonus concedes, pausing only long enough to ensure that Scourge and Soundwave are leading the attack.

Boarding the Autobot ship was easy. Finding a hidden corner large enough for the two of them isn’t. Eventually, they locate an unlocked room. A lone Autobot cringes in a corner. Unarmed, little more than a civilian. Collateral damage.

Galvatron parts the head from the body without so much as a grunt of effort. Cyclonus shivers in appreciation and drops to his knees.

* * *

 **Dais**

This time, Cyclonus stands. A Paradronian sprawls at his feet, a perfectly cylindrical hole burnt right the way through him. The floor beneath is stained with his fluids.

And Galvatron, poised on the dais, is likewise stained. He looks good in black and yellow and pink. He’d look good in grey, too, soot-streaked over his fine, purple armour. He’d look good in anything. Invulnerable, invincible, perfect.

For once, Cyclonus is permitted to touch. His hands rove, tiny sparks of arousal lancing through his energy field. He bows his head to lap at the tip of Galvatron’s spike. Conquest has never tasted so good.


End file.
